


Peace

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Spirit Healer Hawke [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue Hawke (Dragon Age), Cuddling & Snuggling, Exhaustion, M/M, Magic, Sleeping Together, Spirit Healer Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “Spirits,” Anders said. “You were— talking to them?”“Studying,” Hawke said, gently shrugging his shoulders, and Anders watched as he got to his knees, taking a wet cloth and beginning to scrub away the chalk lines he’d left on the floor, soaking them away. “I’m not as good of a healer as you are, Anders. If I don’t put in the hours on the theory, I won’t ever be able to meet you on the practice.”
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Series: Spirit Healer Hawke [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517876
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Peace

When Anders entered the little shack the Hawkes called their home, neither Gamlen nor Leandra were to be seen. Gamlen was no doubt out at the Blooming Rose, and as for Leandra, Anders couldn’t be sure – he wasn’t able to get an incredibly good handle on her, much as he tried, and…

Did she disapprove? Of his interest in Hawke, of their spending time together? He didn’t _think_ so. But how could he be sure?

It was a big shack, by the standards of Lowtown. Badly made, and freezing cold even in summer, but it was big, had a lot of space to it, and Anders leaned down to gently stroke the dog’s head. Felix was snoring softly, but he opened one eye to look up at Anders, yawning, and then flopped forward again.

He was still sleeping off their last hike up the Sundermount, Anders supposed, and he stepped over the dog, leaning to look through the door that led to Gamlen and Leandra’s room, but it was empty. The door to the other room, the bigger one where Carver and Hawke slept, and stored their armour, was closed, and when Anders brushed his fingers against it, he felt the glow of magic on the other side.

Shivering, Anders knocked his knuckles against it.

“Come in,” came Hawke’s voice, and Anders pushed open the door, inhaling the familiar ozone tang of magic on the air, but fresh and sweet – the smell of the Fade. Hawke was standing in the middle of a runic circle, his back straight, his hands spread out before him, and hovering on the air were a dozen blue-green balls of flames that floated, gently orbiting the mage at their centre…

Anders could hear the whisper and murmur that came from them, those flames. Even as he stared at them, mouth open, his eyes wide, they began to slowly dim and sink down to the ground, disappearing entirely before they touched the stone floors, and when Hawke turned to meet Anders’ gaze, he looked…

Tired.

“Oh, good,” he said softly, “it’s you. I love Merrill, merely that… I wasn’t ready for her particular baseline of energy.”

“Spirits,” Anders said. “You were— talking to them?”

“Studying,” Hawke said, gently shrugging his shoulders, and Anders watched as he got to his knees, taking a wet cloth and beginning to scrub away the chalk lines he’d left on the floor, soaking them away. “I’m not as good of a healer as you are, Anders. If I don’t put in the hours on the theory, I won’t ever be able to meet you on the practice.”

“Spirit healing isn’t a common field of magic,” Anders said in a low voice.

“No,” Hawke agreed. His voice was almost serene as he continued to wipe over the floor, on his hands and knees, working to clear up the chalk there. “Why are you here, Anders?”

“I was…” Anders trailed off, almost ashamed of the answer that came to his lips. He had been to the Hawke residence before, of course. He’d walked around everywhere with Hawke, had met Leandra, or Carver, or Gamlen, each their own variety of unpleasant to deal with. He had never come here, unescorted. “I needed a break. From the clinic. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Hawke stayed on his knees, but his hand on the cloth stopped, and he kept his gaze on the floor, on the chalk-dusted cloth gripped between his hands. Anders swallowed, hard, and heard Justice in the back of his head, irritable, demanding they return to proper work, _demanding_—

“Was your sister a spirit healer?” Anders asked. “Your father?”

“No,” Hawke said, standing to his feet and setting the cloth on one of the tables, wiping off his hands as he did so. “Bethany, she… She liked elemental magic. My father, too.” Anders stared at his back, at his exhausted shoulders, the way his head tipped forward slightly, his fingers touching the top of the desk. “Look, Anders,” he said, turning his head. “I’m sorry if you were hoping to go to the Hanged Man for a drink, but frankly, I’m tired. I’m still recovering from the hike last week, and I can’t come help you in the clinic, not today. I wish I could, but—”

“No, no, I wasn’t going to ask you to,” Anders said, stepping forward, the door closing shut behind him, and Hawke watched him, cautiously. “I’m… sorry, Hawke, I didn’t come here to disturb you.”

There were bags under Hawke’s eyes, Anders noted as he stepped closer. Bags under his eyes, and his breathing was a little heavier than usual – he wasn’t slouching exaggeratedly, but enough to be noticeable. Anders ignored Justice’s complaint in the back of his mind as he reached for Hawke’s shoulder, and touched it, gently.

“I can’t sleep in the clinic, sometimes, for people knocking on the door,” he admitted. “I suppose I just thought I could rest here, and it should have occurred to me that you have the same problem.”

“I was just about to lie down for a nap,” Hawke murmured, shrugging his shoulders, and his hand came slowly up to touch Anders’, cupping the back of his knuckles. He smiled, exhaustedly, and Justice was absolutely silent as Anders leaned closer, interlinking their fingers. “You could lie down with me, if you wanted.”

“I do want,” Anders said, nodding. “Yeah.”

\--

Hawke didn’t even try to kiss him. Anders would have initiated it, once upon a time – a few years ago, he’d have dropped to his knees in front of Hawke in whatever cupboard he could shove him into first, would have shoved his tongue down Hawke’s throat at any available opportunity.

Times were different, of course. Hawke didn’t try to kiss him, so Anders didn’t try it first: they lay down together on Hawke’s cot, smaller than the one Anders had in the clinic, their legs tangled with one another.

Anders lay his head on Hawke’s chest, breathing in the Fade-smell that clung to him, and Hawke’s breathing was slow and even, Hawke’s hands rested in a comforting weight against his shoulders.

To Anders’ surprise, when Carver came in, he swore under his breath and irritably muttered to himself, but he didn’t open the shutters or light any candles, didn’t raise his voice to get Hawke to wake up. He just closed the door again, and was quiet in the other room, let his brother and Anders sleep together, uninterrupted.

“What was it that drew you to spirit healing?” Anders asked the next morning, burning with curiosity, when Carver was still asleep in the other bed, and Hawke looked at Anders through lidded eyes. “If it wasn’t your father?”

“Spirits aren’t like people,” Hawke murmured. “They’re kind without expectation. They’re kind because kindness is the done thing. They don’t do it for reward, or recompense, but because kindness is what they know.”

“Some people are like that,” Anders said softly, ignoring the warning rumble of Justice in the back of his mind, and Hawke rolled them over, pressing his nose against Anders’ neck, lying on top of him, _heavy_, warm… He was so unlike Karl, but Anders’ chest ached, anyway.

“Not enough,” Hawke agreed, his breath hot against Anders’ skin, making him shiver. “But enough to make everyone worth saving.”

Anders shuddered, feeling a shiver run over his skin, and a warmth burn underneath. He swallowed, consumed with _want_ all at once, want and affection and a desire to pull Hawke’s mouth against his no matter that Carver was asleep in the cot beside them, no matter, _no matter_. Hawke, who wasn’t angry, but was so, so kind; Hawke, who _cared_, who put all his free hours into working alongside Anders at his clinic; Hawke, who lay on top of him like Anders had done anything to earn him.

“Maker, what did I do to deserve you?” Anders asked.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Hawke whispered, and Anders closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in Hawke’s hair and pulling him closer. It was remarkably easy, to sleep like that, Hawke’s body on top of his.

A man could get used to that.


End file.
